Reflection All A Shatter
by CanaceErinn
Summary: 1990 Charles Dance Phantom of the Opera fic. Carlotta reflects on Christine's failed debut, the chandelier crash, and the role she played in causing both. One-shot.


Author's Note: Carlotta and any mentioned characters do not belong to me (Gaston Leroux, Yeston and Kopit, and so on and so forth). Also, if you haven't seen the 1990 miniseries version of _Phantom of the Opera_, none of this will make much sense. If you're still curious, I'd suggest you go out and get your hands on a copy of said movie (and it is doable), THEN come back here to my little story.

The thought process behind this story is simple: being the type of writer who asks questions about anything and everything, after watching the miniseries a few times, I started to wonder, given her role in the chandelier crash, what was Carlotta thinking in the aftermath of the event? We see her right before it falls, and then not again until much later with the 'rats for a rat' scene. This, then, is my interpretation on just what she might have been thinking and what she could have possibly done (I'm also going to be shameless and say this might be possibly why she doesn't scream or put up a fight when the Phantom appears with the rats later) .

P.S.: Yes, I'm spelling Christine's last name differently from the Leroux and film versions. Daee is the way it is spelled in the Yeston/Kopit musical _Phantom_, which is what the 1990 miniseries was based off of.

"_How you do tonight affects my reputation as well as yours!"-Carlotta to Christine, The Phantom of the Opera_

Traditionally, the opening night production of _Faust_ at the Palais Garnier in Paris was one of the social events of the season. The work was a beloved favorite of the company and its patrons, and it was typically presented every other season to the delight and excitement of all. In this, the 1892-1893 season, there was an extra layer of enthusiasm on the opening night of _Faust_. A young unknown, a Christine Daee by name, would be making her debut as Marguerite in the opera, and the potpourri of Parisian society had turned out to hear her. There was no concern about the production itself, nor the gentlemen singing Faust or Mephisto as they were the leading men of the Paris Opera. No, all of the pressure, all of the scrutiny, was on young Mademoiselle Daee. And in the middle of Act I, it seemed as if the pressure had indeed gotten to her.

"Non, monsieur…non…" Christine Daee half gasped, half choked, realizing her singing voice was no longer with her. She looked around at her fellow singers onstage, as if searching for an answer or salvation, then tried again. "Non, monsieur…" This time, her voice was weaker than before.

In response, the audience began to murmur in shock and confusion. What was wrong with her? Didn't this girl know her place? Hadn't she warmed up properly?

As Christine attempted her opening lyrics a few more times, each time sounding more and more feeble, the crowd began to whistle and hiss, all pretenses of sympathy for her gone. Her crime, the audacity of leading the toast of society on, was unforgivable.

One person in the auditorium, however, could not have been more delighted with the whole situation. She leaned forward in her box, listening to each of Christine's pathetic attempts to sing, and a smile spread across her face with each failed note.

"I knew you shouldn't have hired her," Carlotta Cholet exclaimed, looking at her husband, Alain Cholet. As manager of the company, he had dared to go behind her back, her authority, and hire Christine to sing Marguerite in _Faust_. Not only was all of this a lesson to Christine, but, even though she loved him, Carlotta meant for the evening to be a lesson to her husband as well.

Despite an urge to further gloat about the young ingénue, Carlotta restrained herself and instead smiled at her husband, playing with his mustache as she continued. "She doesn't have any experience." _That will teach him to think he knows more about singing than me! _she thought at the same time, somewhat enjoying the shocked look on his face.

As he pulled away from her to take the chaos in, Carlotta leaned back in her seat, relishing the sounds of boos and whistles that were now dominating the auditorium. Laughter escaped her throat once more, and she was quick to reign in her emotions, lest she earn a tongue-lashing from her husband. _It simply wouldn't do for La Carlotta to be scolded in front of the public_, she told herself. _Not when they will need to come to me, on their knees, begging me to sing again. And even that masked fiend will wish I had never left, pranks or not. This night, it is the end for so much…and a new beginning for me. _

Yes, after tonight, the world would be splendid for La Carlotta again, she told herself. The critics in all of the papers tomorrow would write disparagingly of Christine Daee's abilities, all the while lauding _her_ talents to the skies. This would happen; she had seen it with other houses, other critics across Europe. Milan's papers were notorious for doing that to any newcomers who dared to sing at La Scala. And of course, one or two of the writers would beg for her to return, that, despite all of the unfortunate incidents that had befallen her performances as of late, she was needed, that opera in Paris suffered without her. They'd either say it, or she'd convince them to say it. It paid to have a husband with power and influence everywhere, after all.

_Whatever can I sing to make my return? _Carlotta had started to ask herself, when the sound of shrieks broke through her reverie. She leaned forward again and looked around, her smile frozen, as she tried to figure out what the screaming was for. _Can't be Christine. She can't even talk! _

"Look," her husband whispered, and Carlotta followed his gaze to the chandelier that was prominently displayed in the center of the auditorium's ceiling – a magnificent work of gilded brass, glass, and crystal. It was now swaying back and forth in a wild fashion.

"Probably all the noise has disturbed it," Carlotta answered. _Who cares about it? It's just a chandelier. It'll stop. How dare he interrupt my moment, my triumph complete!_

To her surprise, Cholet looked at her like she was no better than any of the brainless girls in the chorus – as if she were an ignorant fool. "It'sa never done that before, and there was a lotta more noise during your performances! It'sa the Phantom again! It is!"

_How dare he! _Carlotta bristled in her seat, fuming at the memory of her disasters, only to quickly look up as the screams increased. The chandelier was openly swinging, much faster than before, and just as quickly descended to the auditorium floor below, its glass globes shattering on impact, the crystal ornaments flying everywhere, and the brass fixtures twisting and shaping themselves around the seats.

The auditorium itself delved into a greater chaos than it had been when the patrons had been vehemently attacking Christine. Panic broke out, and people began rushing for the doors. Up in the boxes, women were screaming and fainting, while men were trying to pull them away, all the while sweating with fear in their own right.

Carlotta sank back into her chair, somewhat shocked, but mainly angered over what had just happened. _How dare the chandelier fall, right when Christine is being booed off forever! Couldn't it have waited, til after she was gone? What awful timing!_

For his part, her Alain was white-faced and muttering to himself. His eyes were wide, and it seemed as if he didn't know where to look first in regard to the situation before him.

"Ruined," she heard him say under his breath. "Ruined, ruined…"

_Ruined? _Carlotta glanced at her husband, then stood to survey the damage. The chandelier was a smashed display of destruction and almost seemed to embody the evening: disaster. The auditorium had almost cleared in regard to the orchestra and parquet seating areas, so the screams had somewhat lessened…aside from a few.

"My God," Carlotta murmured, realizing the source of the cries. There were people _under _ the chandelier. It was only two voices, she decided as she listened carefully. Still…

"Ruined indeed," Carlotta echoed her Alain's words, as the situation fully hit her. In the wake of the crash, Christine's humiliation would be forgotten – at the most, given a single sentence in the papers. All of the stories would focus on the chandelier: how it fell, who was injured, and – God forbid – who had been killed by the blow. She could see the glaring remarks the papers would say: "How could this happen? Such never happened under the previous management. The Paris Opera is unsafe…"

…_which will mean profit loss on every level: ticket sales, publicity, future casting of my tenors…no one will want to come here, if it's unsafe_. Carlotta nearly gagged at the thought; though she was the Opera's prima donna, she was a business-woman as well, as her husband had taught her. _The wave of bad press this whole night will bring…_

Carlotta slowly made her way out of her husband's box, careful to not attract his attention and careful to not be called over to help the victims. Police and some of the workmen from the backstage were beginning to surround the fallen chandelier, clearly eyeing any means of rescuing the wounded and recovering the dead. _There's more of them around to do good, but the last thing I need is for them to make bandages out of my dress, or something. This was a custom-made gown; I don't want to part with it!_

As she exited out and into one of the Opera's vast corridors, Carlotta's mind was racing from her previous epiphany about the press. _There'll be no way to keep this out of the papers this time_, she thought. _This is not a glass glued to the tray, ala my Traviata. Far from it. Disaster…and we will need a new chandelier. _She almost reeled again at that thought: the cost of such an ornament would be astronomical. _Especially for the Paris Opera. Big, bright, and beautiful. And after this disaster, it won't come cheap. _

A few minutes later, Carlotta had reached her husband's enormous office. She ducked inside and locked the door behind her, tossing her furs onto the nearest chair. Without thinking, she began to yank at her hair, pulling and tugging until her hat and hatpins were off. These fell to the floor as well.

"My poor Alain," Carlotta said to herself without thinking as she strode over to his desk. Spotting a decanter and a few empty glasses, she poured herself some brandy and downed it within minutes, then poured another drink.

_Ease the memory of this night, _Carlotta thought, though she knew she wouldn't forget it – and for all the wrong reasons. _Our worst night since we took over…and why? Who or what could have happened?_

Carlotta strolled over to a nearby couch and sank down onto it, sipping at her brandy and thinking the situation over. A month into their tenure as managers, she and Alain had ordered a safety check on the entire opera house, from the foyers to the cellars (which hadn't gone so well- Bouquet had decided to mysteriously quit after that order). It had largely been peaceful, and she recalled briefly glancing over the reports. The chandelier had stood out to her even then, as it had reminded her of some of her wedding jewels from her dear Alain. At the time, the report had listed the chandelier to be in excellent condition. That had been two months ago.

"So, it couldn't have been an accident," Carlotta decided. A 2,000 kilo chandelier just didn't happen to give way and fall, not after an inspection. And the workmen had demonstrated how the chandelier was raised and lowered for cleaning – it took some time to bring it down slowly. Clearly, the chandelier had fallen to a malicious mindset. But who…?

"Not the workmen," Carlotta ticked them off her mental list of suspects. The pay was good and the hours were long. She had clearly noted their discomfort during her performances, the uncultured heathen that they were, but they would not have dropped the chandelier. Not if they wanted to work in any other opera house in Europe.

The police? Inspector Ledoux was the smartest of them all, in addition to being her husband's friend of sorts, and he had planned for the evening to serve as a means to capture the Phantom…the Phantom…

"It was him!" Carlotta jumped straight up, spilling brandy onto her gown. "It must have been!" She should have known immediately! That masked fiend. He would do something like this – he had ruined all of her performances with his ridiculous tricks and traps, so it wasn't too hard to believe he could do this as well.

"But how?" Carlotta asked, beginning to pace. The backstage area was crowded, especially during such an opera as _Faust_, meaning the workmen would be everywhere, along with the chorus, ballet girls, the principals…it was impossible. The Phantom couldn't have done something to the chandelier rope, not without being spotted. But it had to have been him!

"Cara, it doesn't matter how," she told herself. "But why?" Previously the Phantom had only interrupted her performances – the brief run of _Eugene Onegin_ that had featured the guest Russian soprano (Carlotta couldn't recall her name- she had never been fond of Russians or their ghastly operas) had gone without incident. Clearly the Phantom did not resent sopranos- aside from Carlotta.

"And he is her teacher…" Carlotta recalled the young Daee twit revealing that the Phantom was her own music teacher. The girl had been tearful in breaking her promise to the masked man that night after the Bistro, but she had not wanted to be rude to La Carlotta. She had seemed quite loyal to him, and had spoken of her maestro in warm tones. So why would he have ruined her debut?

_It doesn't make sense. Why would he have given her confidence, only to tear it all away?_ Carlotta pondered, when a new thought occurred. _For the same reasons I did, perhaps? A false show, like all of those compliments I didn't mean? _But even that was not possible. Based on Christine's vocal display at the Bistro, the Phantom had been teaching her for quite some time. Furthermore, if he'd wanted to humiliate her, why hadn't he tried something at the party that night? In front of her betters, to ruin any chances the girl might have had a legitimate singing career, would have been crueler, somehow.

_So, common sense means the Phantom did not ruin her debut on purpose…the only one who truly ruined her debut was me._ Carlotta sank into the nearest chair as this idea hit her, and she could feel the color draining from her face. _And, seeing as he has gotten at Alain and myself by way of pranks…and if Christine was truly his devoted pupil…_

All of the facts added up to one sound answer: the chandelier had fallen on purpose; the Phantom was responsible; the memory of Christine's debut would be blurred in the minds of the audience as a result; and lastly, the Phantom had known something was truly wrong with Christine's voice (and not stage fright) and had thus caused the chandelier to fall as a means of retribution. Never mind that people would be killed and injured; never mind that people would be reduced to mindless idiots fleeing for their lives; no, they had booed his protégé, and so they had to suffer.

"And I thought I was harsh," Carlotta murmured, sipping the last of her brandy. Despite the logic behind her reasoning, however, a niggling thought ran through her mind: never before had the Phantom tried to hurt anyone. Granted, according to Alain, he had spoken to those who had dared to sit in his 'personal' box, Box Five – utter nonsense, if he truly was a ghost! – but no member of the paying public had ever been harmed. Was Christine's vocal failure truly an act worthy of driving the Phantom into a murderous rage? If such was possible…

"Oh, God!" Carlotta exclaimed, her face paling again. _The Phantom speaks through walls. Items have disappeared and reappeared in my dressing room. Props have been tampered with. The Phantom can be anywhere…man or not, that could mean he saw me! He might have seen what I did! And my visit to Christine's dressing room…oh no, oh no…_

Anyone with sense, if they had seen Carlotta and knew of her jealousy at Christine taking the part of Marguerite, along with her natural dislike of her costume girl, would be able to deduce such, or at least guess, that Carlotta had played a hand in Christine's disaster. And given that the Phantom clearly had more than common sense…

_He might be coming after me now! _Carlotta thought, a whimper escaping from her. Her eyes darted around the room, and she listened to every creak, every sound, in her husband's office with great intent. _Any noise could be that masked man coming in here for me. And if he's enraged enough to drop a chandelier on an auditorium of booing patrons, what will he do to me?_

The world was still and silent. Carlotta could hardly breathe from fear and anticipation. Time seemed to drag out, and she kept trying to drink from her brandy glass, though she had emptied it at her first realization.

The sound of a clock chiming caused Carlotta to let out a loud shriek and jump to her feet, which in turn made her lightheaded for a moment or two. The brandy glass fell to the floor and smashed, glass bouncing across the thick Persian carpets that were set around the office.

_The Phantom's here!_ Carlotta thought, and whimpered again. She stood still, waiting for him to make a move, and began to laugh a minute later. _Just the clock! I'm all alone! _

Carlotta made her way across the floor, careful to not step on any of the broken glass. _Christine can pick it up tomorrow, _she thought. _Shattered glass- shattered dreams – they go hand in hand. Such an act will drive my lesson home. _She smiled at the thought of Christine meekly returning to her appropriate position as costume girl and partial maid, her voice forever silenced by Carlotta's brilliant treachery.

_Good lord, it's already 11:00!_ Carlotta looked up at the large grandfather clock that stood next to the doorway that led to her private dressing space, the one she used for costume fittings and makeup trials. _Alain must still be overseeing the crash. He'll be in soon. _

"Now, Cara, Cara," Carlotta spoke to herself. "The Phantom has not come. That was hours ago. He might not even know, might not have even seen! You're jumping at ghost stories. Just relax, put on your dressing gown, and wait for_ caro _Alain. He'll be up in a bit."

Reassured by her own words, Carlotta strode over to her wardrobe to change, any feelings of guilt or honest self-reflection gone. _Tomorrow I shall reclaim my place as prima donna of this company, and no one, not the little Daee, not the Phantom, shall ever change that. Peace will be restored, and things will return to normal. _

Moments later, Carlotta was sitting at her dressing table, her hair in a wrap that matched her black and gold dressing gown. She began to reapply some makeup, wanting to look nice when her poor Alain would finally arrive. _My poor caro…he deserves a nice sight, after overseeing a needless disaster. What a trial it must be, to be the manager of this company. _

Carlotta heard a door open, but remained at her dressing table, carefully lining her lips with her favorite shade of red. She began to half-hum, half-sing a favorite air, not once realizing that the latecomer was in fact, not her husband, but someone of a darker nature, someone who felt no love toward her at all. No, this visitor was mysterious and foreboding, and had no trouble at all advancing toward Carlotta and her self-centered existence. His footsteps were so soft, his pace so graceful and quick, that one might have thought him to be a ghost…

(And Phans of the film will know what happens next. Thanks for reading, and please feel free to comment and/or leave suggestions!)


End file.
